A Thousand Years
by BlackPuma137
Summary: Slight Wholock. John's gravity has been displaced after the Reichenbach Fall.
1. Chapter 1

**A Thousand Years**

It hadn't taken long for Sherlock to realize as a child how much it unnerved the adults, the others. He would try to hid himself away, make himself as unnoticeable as conceivable. They didn't appreciate his genius, and to this he was privy in acute ways. But _he_ knew. He knew that he would always have his intellect, his own self to save him from the world. He receded further into himself, which only proved to the detriment of others: for he grew exponentially when most people reached their zenith for a fraction of second, then proceeded to decay in the dank corners of a world they only to care to light marginally.

It was dark out there. But he found solace within the faces of those who he inspired envy, loathing, disgust. Rendering those beneath him dumbfounded.

In any matter, he quickly learned that his observations must also be obtained quickly. It didn't help to add the sting of the stare to the sting of idiocy, and often, his subject matter became unnerved anyway. Inaccurate readings make for dragged-out cases. It became so..._boring_.

John, though...John he lingered on. And it didn't escape his notice.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the first time John had been outside the house in two weeks. Not counting, of course, the funer-

But no. He can't let himself go there now in his thoughts. Mrs. Hudson had just now commented on how he'd grown a bit less catatonic.

He breathed.

Go through the list, just like the counselor recommended. Tesco. Cart. Aisle one. Salami.

_Fridge. Head. Sherlock's experiments-_

A lurch in his stomach.

Aisle Two. Lettuce head. Green pepper. Red Pepper. String beans.

_Salad. Dinner the night before-_

An ache. In his chest.

Aisle Three. Noodles. Gravy sauce. Some t.v. Dinner or reconsitituted form of food that some soccer mom will hail as her saving grace.

_Those nights when he has time for nothing else, scrambling in order to put in the microwave and sit down before Sher-_

He stops, abruptly, hand almost reaching the stocking shelf, when suddenly he has the urge to throw up, to get out of his skin, to get out of his head; he can't do this anymore, he can't pretend that everything's alright, that his skin isn't tingling, that his eyes aren't-

"Are you all right?"

A soft, feminine voice reaches through the din in his head. He looks up, cautiously; finds himself on the floor next to the cart, with his head between his knees and rocking slightly back and forth.

A girl—a woman—is crouching in front of him. Very young. Blonde hair. Wise, wise eyes that look like they've seen everything and anything, not enough but maybe too much. A colorful scarf, with shades of purple that seem impossible, too finely crafted for...well, for anything _Earthly_, actually...

She smiles.

"It's okay, if you aren't, you know. Sometimes it's okay to not be okay."

"Rooooooose? Where are yoouuu? We need more jam, and I-"

"Rose" looks up, and John notices another figure approaching rapidly. His hair is floppy, as if he's just woken up or a teenager, and if it wasn't for the brown trenchcoat and blue suit he might just be young enough to pass as just a tad more years older as Rose. He quirks his head as he takes in Rose and John on the floor.

"Rose, who's this?" he asks, rocking forward on his feet. "Oh, hello there!" He lounges forward, not waiting for a reply, reaching out a hand to shake John's. "Rose is so rude, you know, never bothering to introduce me to anyone." He finishes shaking John's hand, pumping the limp appendage enthusiastically, then leaps back, his hand on Rose's shoulder, towering over the two of them.

"Oi! That's not fair! Just because you're too impatient-"

"Rose, how dare you attack me when this man is obviously is in a time of need!"

"Doctor, eat your banana and stitch it up."

The Doctor sticks his tongue at her, reaching into his pocket to grab a banana which he begins peeling, but this is lost on Rose, who's turned back to a flabberghasted John with a smile that has her tongue peeking out and John feeling like he's been saved somehow.

"Hello there," Rose says. "I'm Rose Tyler, and this is the Doctor."

"John. John Watson," he stammers out.

"It's very nice to meet you," she informs him. "Are you doing alright? Are you in need of something?"

"No. No. I'm okay."

"You've lost someone."

"How did you-"

"It's written all over your face."

It's funny. Sherlock would've said the same thing. For him, everything _was_ written on everyone's face. John wonders what he would say about these two, this woman with her tongue sticking out of her smile, her strange smile, this man with professor-like glasses, red high-tops, and something extremely odd about his manner.

Sometimes he likes to put himself in Sherlock's shoes. When it gets really, really hard. Perhaps it was to prove himself: that he could live without him. Do without him.

He tries not to stare as he takes in this strange, strange couple. Sherlock was always so good at that. Except, he thinks, with himself. For some reason, John found Sherlock looking at him from time to time, frowning. Puzzled.

Not enough to be even termed "occassionally". But enough for him to notice. John has a strong suspicion that he is the only one who _is—was_-amazed at his abilities. The only one that didn't have some sort of doubt in the back of his mind.

He noticed the staring.

John looks up again. "Sorry," he says, trying to pull himself up by his arm.

He falls back down, and the couple rush forward, Rose on his left, the "Doctor" on his right, supporting him to his cart.

"Woah, do try not to get carried away," the Doctor says.

"Are you absolutely _sure_ you're okay? We can get you somewhere if you need to-" Rose begins.

"No. No. It's fine, I'm just going to head, to head home-" His voice almost cracks at the word home. _Home_, where only an empty armchair and a laughing skull remain to mock him.

The couple share a desperate, questioning look. John nods, though, not to be dissauded. "Look, I was in the army, and for good reason. I'll be fine."

The couple lean him against the trolley, where they support him. "Someone important, then," the Doctor says.

"We're so sorry for your loss," Rose says. And John can see they mean it, they truly do, even as they glance at each other subtely. They would know, he thinks. They would know how it is for him.

"Thank you," John says.

"I know that this won't help, John, but while I know that it must feel like your center of gravity is knocked off it's axis, I also know that you'll find something or someone else that'll give you something to gravitate towards to," Rose says solemely.

The Doctor nods, a bobbing of the head that verges on the obnoxious. "Oh yes, Rose is absolutely correct. Of course, she demonstrated the Hays—Burden Theory in mere colloquial terms but-"

As the man dissolves into lecture, Rose leans towards John. "Don't worry, I don't understand a single word. But he'll stop soon enough."

John smiles.

Suddenly, the Doctor finishes, beaming expectantly at both Rose and John. Rose nods, grinning; side-eyeing John and motioning him to do the same. He obliges, grinning as well—they were infectious, the pair; full of life.

The Doctor sighs, then, frowning, grabs John's shopping list out of his hands and proceeds to take John's cart and head out of the aisle.

"Come on, John!" Rose takes John's hand and tucks it inside her elbow, and then they follow the Doctor, with Rose issuing admonishments as needed. (As needed being every few minutes as he tries to nibble on everything in sight and simultaneously breaking everything not exactly edible.)

John finds himself answering Rose's questions as they go along, until they reach the end of the last aisle—the sweets—and suddenly Rose seems to know all about Sherlock and what happened, and John knows just about as much as Rose's own life, and though he doesn't know about what happened in her life after the Doctor, by the way they look at each other he can guess close enough to the truth.

They watch as the Doctor rides the trolley to the end of aisle. Rose turns to him, smilling.

"Well, John, we leave you here."

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. If you ever need anything-"

"Just make a wish, really hard!" The Doctor's voice comes from behind him, and they both jump. Rose squeals, and smacks him on the shoulder, but he only gives a smile in answer.

John smiles slowly as well. The Doctor takes Rose by her free hand, and smiling, Rose says goodbye once more, and they skip down the aisle. John smiles a bit as he hears Rose admonish the Doctor for ripping into a package of peeps that they know have to buy only to have the Doctor find he hates them with a burning passion.

He grabs his trolley, which the Doctor had coasted to the checkout line. Then groans when he finds it has nothng but jam and various treats in it.

Nevertheless, he finds himself feeling just a bit better. Even if his center of gravity still hasn't found a new anchor yet.


End file.
